


Separation Anxiety

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Class (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Flirting, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: Quill is minding her own business and consuming enough coffee to knock out a weaker-willed human when she notices the attractive stranger video-calling someone at the next table. She's not usually one for sentimental behaviour in public, but she might be able to make an exception for someone that cute...





	Separation Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilqueenofgallifrey (MayFairy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayFairy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Unstoppable Force and the Sometimes Movable Object](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745211) by [evilqueenofgallifrey (MayFairy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayFairy/pseuds/evilqueenofgallifrey). 



> Huge love to [Aimee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MayFairy/pseuds/evilqueenofgallifrey) for letting me write an AU of Quillei.
> 
> Inspired by [this post.](https://pics.me.me/34-sim-gesperrt-17-34-nichole-nordeman-2-std-sitting-in-19646634.png)

Quill is not entirely sure who the woman sat next to her in the overpriced airport Starbucks is, but she’s making an awful lot of noise for someone so relatively small. Quill is approximately 80% certain that airports are places in which one should be discreet and not broadcast your conversations loudly to the assembled dregs of humanity, but this woman is holding her phone up and – much to Quill’s considerable disgust – cooing at the damn thing. Actually cooing. Aloud. In public.

 _Phones,_ Quill thinks to herself, even as she checks her own and fires off a biting put-down to a bigoted commenter on an _Independent_ article about migration. _Bloody bane of my life. Making people act like lunatics outside, walking into lampposts and the road and such. And don’t even get me started on Pokémon bloody Go._

She thinks about the blissful hour of phone-free tranquillity she might be able to enjoy en route to Edinburgh, and smirks to herself, taking a sip of her latte and relishing the prospect of snatching any irksome devices from fellow passengers and dropping them onto the floor of the plane. Ideally under her heel, if logistically possible. It’s a cheering thought. 

From the next table, the woman coos again, shifting in her seat, and Quill side-eyes her disdainfully. Or at least, she attempts to, because now the woman has moved, Quill can see her face in profile, and she’s not entirely sure she’s seen anyone that attractive since… well, since _ever._ Not that she’d admit this to anyone, of course, given that she is Ice Cold and Highly Composed At All Times, but still – this woman is nice to look at, and Quill’s brain short circuits for long enough that she almost spills her coffee over her own hand. _Almost,_ because she might have left the army, but the army has never left her, and she has the reflexes of a cat, thank _you_ very much. She saves the situation, slurping at the mug as discreetly as she’s able, and then returns to her subtle-ish glancing at the mysterious, simpering woman. Somehow, the cooing suddenly seems more forgivable. 

She’s got more hair than Quill has possibly ever seen on anyone’s head in all of her time on Earth. Masses of curls spill around her face, and from time to time the woman smiles agitatedly and runs her hand through them, with the ultimate effect of creating a halo of ebony ringlets that frame her head in a vaguely romantic kind of way. Which Quill is definitely not staring at, or imagining, as she takes in the slight pout of her lips and her wide, worried eyes and her warm, caramel-coloured skin which is so far removed from Quill’s depressingly, stubbornly whiter-than-white-despite-fake-tan-experiments-in-youth natural colour that she can’t help but feel even more like Casper the Friendly Ghost. Something about the woman seems irksomely familiar, but Quill can’t quite put her finger on it, so she scowls at the stranger for half a second, then goes back to admiring her, and it’s only then that she properly tunes in to what the woman is saying.

“Look at you!” the woman gushes, in the sickening kind of voice that Quill instantly recognises as the one adults use when talking to small children. “Aren’t you such a big boy?! So big! So handsome!” 

Ah. 

 _Of course she’s got a kid,_ Quill tells herself, feeling her hopes die at once. _The cute ones always do._ Not that she has any particular problem with children, of course, but she generally likes to keep them far removed from herself and her general vicinity, especially small ones. They’re sticky and messy and they scream, and thirteen years in the army has left her with no time for any of the above. 

Still, the woman’s voice is soothing, so Quill keeps listening to her, allowing the tone of it to lull her into a blissful state of disengagement with the clamour of the airport. 

“Is he getting on OK, toileting wise? Is he eating? You’ve got the list, right? And the food he likes?” 

Quill only belatedly realises she can’t hear the other half of the conversation because the woman is wearing earphones, hidden under the masses of hair. She registers that, then registers the fact that this woman is so determinedly focused on her phone that she probably wouldn’t notice a nuclear explosion, and then decides to devote her full attention to staring at this –  frankly gorgeous – stranger. Shrugging, Quill scoots her chair two inches to the right, rests her head in her hand, and stares. 

“Have you got his favourite toys? Aww, look at him! Are you being a good boy for Uncle Matty? Are you? Oh, look at him. I can’t leave him, look at his little… I know, I just… _look._ ” 

Quill idly wonders what the baby is doing, in a somewhat detached manner, because the stranger looks somewhat like she’s about to cry, which is frankly a more pressing concern. 

“I know,” the woman says, her voice small and tight with concern. “I just worry…” 

There’s an announcement over the tannoy that Quill barely registers, and the stranger jumps. 

“I have to go,” she’s genuinely on the verge of tears now. “Hold him up… there he is!” 

She beams from ear to ear then, apparently reassured, and she gets to her feet and grabs her handbag. 

“Mummy loves you! You are the best boy! I’m going to be home so soon, and we’re going to have so many snuggles! Yes we are, baby boy! Yes, we are, darling! Be a good boy, now!” 

Quill catches a glimpse of the woman’s phone screen, and her jaw drops.

It’s a cat. 

Well. More specifically, it’s a pair of arms holding up an enormous, fluffy white cat with enormous eyes. But still. 

Definitely not a small child.

Definitely a cat. 

Quill’s heart melts, and she watches the woman blow a kiss to the feline before hanging up and beginning to exit the coffee shop. At which point, Quill panics, lurches to her feet, and races after her before she can stop herself. 

“Hey!” she calls, somewhat aggressively, and the woman turns towards her, looking mildly panicked. She feels a stab of embarrassment, and tries to arrange her face into a smile. “Sorry. I. Uh. Nice cat.” 

The stranger stares at her for a moment, and Quill is worried she’s overstepped some kind of boundary, but then the woman’s face breaks into an enormous, proud grin. “Thanks!” she enthuses, her eyes all but transforming into love-hearts, like that ludicrous emoji that people seem so keen on using. “You should come over and meet him sometime, you’d love him.” 

“That seems… forward,” Quill stammers, thrown by the over-familiarity of the gesture. That is, not that she’s complaining about the offer, but a tiny, logical part of her brain is somewhat concerned the woman could be an axe murderer. Then again, she _does_ look familiar. Either way, she’s going over to pet the damn cat. Because, well. Cat. 

The woman looks at her in stupefaction. “Do you really not recognise me?” 

Quill is about to ask if she should when she realises it probably wouldn’t be polite, and instead manages: “Sorry, I’m awful with faces.”

“I live next door to you,” the woman says, smiling understandingly, and that’s good – that means she isn’t mad, and that means Quill can go and pet the cat. And spend time with this incredibly attractive woman. Honestly, the thought of both combined is almost too much to process. “The house with all the hanging baskets outside. I’m Kalei.”

“Quill,” she says brusquely, by way of an introduction. She’s not important. This devastatingly attractive next-door-neighbour was important. “If you live next door, why have I never seen that frankly gorgeous cat before? Or you, for that matter?” 

“Well, Matteusz says you keep weird hours, and Xenophilius is an indoor cat. He’s not good with roads.” 

“I…” Quill blinks, feeling a mild sense of horror beginning to dawn on her. “You know Matteusz?” 

“I teach him Maths, but even if I didn’t… he lives with you, of course I do. He’s a lovely boy, he takes my bins out for me if I forget. That’s why he’s catsitting for me – I trust him to look after Xenophilius, and not do anything silly.” 

“He... he’s catsitting for you?” Quill scowls darkly as she realises he has neglected to share this with her. “ _Why did he not tell me this vital information_?!” 

The woman – _Kalei,_ she corrects – laughs. “He probably didn’t wanna bother you, he said you’re busy a lot of the time with work and the like. I’ve gotta say, I teach him and Charlie and they seem like great kids, you’ve done an amazing job with them.” 

“They’re not mine,” Quill says with horror, resenting the very implication. “I mean. Obviously, the Polish one isn’t, logistically, that isn’t going to... but… Charles isn’t… we aren’t _related._ ” 

“I didn’t mean…” Kalei flushes with embarrassment, and Quill realises she may be being rude. “I mean, you’re _doing_ an amazing job, looking after them both. Not a lot of people would have taken Matteusz in, especially not when you already had Charlie.” 

“Well,” Quill preens slightly, pleased by the compliment. “I like to think I’m doing my best, all things considered.” 

“'All things’ being?” the woman’s eyes widen in horror. “Sorry,” she apologises at once. “I’m so nosy, you don’t have to…” 

“No, it’s alright,” Quill assures her, unruffled by the question. “My boyfriend’s platoon got blown up thanks to Charles’ father’s oversight, shortly followed by Charles’ father, and I inherited a teenager by… well, default, really. His father and my boyfriend were best friends, and they had this stupid pact thing to look after each other’s family, but I was all that Ballon had, so… I inherited his promise, really. Which included Charles.”

Kalei stares at her in open-mouthed shock, and Quill mentally kicks herself for her own bluntness. “Sorry,” she says at once, looking away. “I don’t mean to sound… it was a pretty big… I had to get discharged, and…” 

“No, it’s not…” Kalei smiles sadly, and Quill furrows her brow in confusion, not understanding her tone. “Boyfriend.” 

“Yes, boyfriend.” 

“It’s silly, but I was sort of hoping…” 

Quill suddenly realises what she’s implying, and grins. “Oh,” she says at once, wondering how indiscreet she can get away with being in an airport. “I mean, I’m not adverse to… well, you.”

“In a…” 

“In a ‘why don’t you give me your number and we’ll see where it goes’ kind of way. Given that I’d love to stand around and flirt with you, but I do think we both need to catch our flights.” 

Kalei swears under her breath in another language, getting out her phone and opening her contacts app. “Here,” she says with a shy smile, holding it out to Quill. “It’s just ‘Quill’, isn’t it? You don’t have any longer version of that you prefer?”

“No, I don’t; and yes, it is,” Quill takes the proffered phone and enters her number, saving it under _Just Quill_ and then phoning herself so she can save Kalei’s. “Where are you off to, by the way? Anywhere exotic?” 

“I wish. Belfast. Teacher training conference, crappy mundane hotel, awful food. All bloody weekend. You?” 

“Same shit, different locale. Edinburgh. Business conference, crappy Premier Inn, tolerable food. Also all bloody weekend. What a ball-ache.”

“Well, maybe I’ll hear from you…” 

“Monday,” Quill confirms with a smirk. “Definitely Monday. If not sooner, depending on how rapidly I lose the will to live at this conference, and therefore how rapidly we end up flirting via text to stop us from flinging ourselves into the respective seas.” 

“Well, I hope your conference is boring, because I look forward to flirting,” Kalei says with a wink, and then she turns and disappears into the crowd without a backward glance. _Tease._  

Quill takes out her phone and saves Kalei’s number as _Attractive Conveniently Located Cat Owner._

She hesitates for a moment, then types out a text message. 

 _So, if I come over… can I 100% definitely pet the cat_ AND _flirt with you?_  

The response is almost instant.

_Obviously. See you Monday ;) x_


End file.
